


nothin's gonna hurt you baby

by theredhoodie



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, X-Men: Days of Future Past References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16123202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhoodie/pseuds/theredhoodie
Summary: They had a feeling this war would destroy the world. What they didn’t know that it wasn’t humans they had to watch out for, but people within their own ranks.Or, the one where Reed’s latent mutant powers are too much to handle and he goes off like a bomb, destroying the United States and plunging the world into a DOFP future.





	nothin's gonna hurt you baby

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to write a proper Marcos/Caitlin fic since last season and FINALLY figured it out. I stayed up super late to write this.
> 
> I hope I explained things well enough, while it was purposeful for me to be vague in some areas. I tried to make the time line explicit and I hope you enjoy this!

"Caitlin?" Marcos' voice was hoarse and he was sure that he was seeing things. Hallucinations, the collar pinching his neck and breaking his mind.

But then she shoved her fingers through the bars and brushed his face. "I'm here," she said, exhausted determination in her eyes and relief in her voice.

He couldn't help it. He sagged against the bars and breathed.  _One, two, three_...before pulling himself together. "You shouldn't be here. If they catch you…"

"I'm human," she reminded him. Something she did over and over and over.

"You're a mutant supporter. They'll gut you as an example." As if he hadn't already lost enough.

She shook her head, rummaging in her pack. "I have a plan." Something black and cylindrical shone in her hand. As the watch lights swung across the cells, she ducked low, hiding in the shadows. "I only have one, but…" her eyes flickered to the rest of the mutants shoved into this wall-less hell.

They were off shift for two hours before they'd be shoved back in the factories to make the collars that stung their necks, and parts for more Sentinels. Forced labor used to kill and capture their own kind.

"Once we get you out, we'll come back," Caitlin finished, always the optimist. Her strength of will was strong, and her sense of compassion was even stronger. "I promise," she finished in a whisper, even though the others in the cell were doing their best to catch some sleep.

Marcos opened his mouth to say anything, but nothing came out.

She got onto her knees and pressed the cylinder to the back of his collar. He waited for the electrical jolt to rip through his body, but it didn't happen. Instead, there was a soft click and he ventured to reach his hands up. The collar fell easily under his grip.

He sat, staring at it.

This had to be a dream. There was no possible way he could be escaping right now.

"Marcos," Caitlin's voice cut through the white noise in his mind. She was feeding a dark fabric through the bars. So dark, he wasn't even sure he was holding it as it appeared on his side. "Blackout fabric. I'll hold it around your hands."

The plan sluggishly made itself known. Hunkering under the light-as-air fabric, Caitlin pulled it securely around the other side so he could cut through the bars without being seen. Hidden away in the dark little world, his hands sputtered to life. He hadn't used his powers in a long time. Months. Maybe a year.

It flowed back to him though, his blood alight with freedom. Careful not to cut through the fabric, he sliced through the bars and no alarms went off. Without powers, no one thought anyone could cut through bars two inches around that were dug six feet through the ground and into concrete foundations.

But he did.

He cut through and wriggled to the other side. She grabbed his hand for a moment but any celebration would have to wait.

Marcos turned right back around and welded the bars back in place. He gave one last glance to the mutants he was leaving behind in that pen like caged animals, and followed Caitlin through the delicate array of shadows to a van. She drove and he was forced to lay in the back and kept himself from illuminating the space with his light. They drove for a long time and he dozed off.

They went underground into damp pipes next, walking for two more hours before popping up above ground. The houses and buildings around were all dark. She walked into one and headed straight to the back room. Yanking back a rug, she pulled up a wooden trapdoor and climbed down.

He followed.

Below was what was left of the Underground. The Resistance. Whatever it was going by, it was safe for the time being. A few mutants squirreled away, ones that looked human, or had small, passive powers. And more humans than Marcos would have guessed.

"Wow," he said, squinting against the soft lights, shivering at the warm air. His throat was dry, he hadn't properly showered since before he was taken—they stripped everyone down once a week and hosed them off with cold ass water and ten seconds with a soap bar—and yet he felt the tiniest spark of hope.

None of the faces were familiar, and he had to remind himself of what they'd lost.

It was a miracle that he and Caitlin survived. A miracle by the name of Lorna.

Marcos blinked. He was too dehydrated to even cry.

"Come on," Caitlin said, taking his hand once again, dragging him to reality. "Let's get you some food. Get you cleaned up."

A glorious meal of lukewarm soup and half-stale crackers later and Marcos was standing under an honest to god shower. The water was warmer than the soup had been. His neck was bruised and burned from the collar, the hastily tattooed  **M**  over his right eye and cheek was tender even after all these months.

He washed away six months of stubborn grime, finding bruises blossoming across his torso, his legs, his arms...he was a god damn disaster.

A clean towel waited for him on the edge of the sink. He could have cried from how soft it was. Wiping his hand over the condensation over the mirror, he stared at a face that he didn't recognize. Three years wasn't very long, so why did it feel like the longest century?

Three years and nine months since the Struckers seeked him out for help. Two years and six months since Lorna had the baby. Two years and four months since Reed Strucker lost control and blew up the entire United States, leaving nothing but rubble and three hundred twenty-five million dead. Two years and four months since Lorna saved his and Caitlin's life and lost her own. Two years and four months since...

"Marcos?" The knock on the door startled him. "You okay in there?"

He blinked at his gaunt reflection. "Yeah, I'll be out in a minute." He spent ten minutes taming his beard down to a reasonable length and poked at the shaky black  **M**. Did it really hurt anymore, or was it just his mind playing tricks on him?

Shaking his head, he forced himself to move, to revel in the laundered clothes left for him, the clean air, the lack of a collar...his hand lit up for a moment and he allowed himself a small smile. Having that collar on had been like being cut off from a whole entire part of himself.

Caitlin was waiting for him on the other side of the door. She had a first aid kit laid out on the counter. Another person shuffled into the bathroom behind him. They only had a couple for this whole group of people down here.

"Hi," she said, as if they were meeting for the first time. Her smile was small, but somehow it still reached her eyes. "How do you feel?"

"For now? Like a king." He was pretty sure he'd forgotten how to smile and didn't try it.

Marcos sat when indicated and he listened to the din of life all around them. She inspected his neck, murmuring that she couldn't do much, the burns were old and the bruising would have to go down on its own.

Her fingertips were paper light against his skin.

"Caitlin," he said finally, gently grabbing her wrist for a moment to stop her nurse act. It was impossible for her to shake it.

She stopped. Her hair was choppy on the ends, like whoever cut it hadn't been paying attention. She met his eyes fully, here in the light, with other souls moving around, like the surface of the world wasn't completely fucked.

"Why did you come for me?" he asked, a frown deepening on his face.

She opened her mouth and closed it again. She did it one more time before she sighed, her shoulders sagging a little. "Why wouldn't I?"

It was such a simple answer but her face said it all.

_Why wouldn't I…_

_Because we're the last ones. It's just you and I. Everyone is gone and if I'm going around saving people, I damned well am going to save you._

He tilted his head to the side and felt his heart beating heavy in his chest, feeling the grief all over again. "Right," he breathed out. What else could he say?

His chin fell to his chest, eyes falling almost closed. He missed Caitlin's eyes filling with the tears he couldn't shed. He missed her hand shake when she lifted it, brushing against his cheek at the very edge of the  **M**  branded there. But he felt her soft shirt and the warmth through it as he leaned against her. He felt her hands rest against his shoulder, her fingers lace through his hair.

He hadn't felt a touch so soft and loving in such a long time. He hardly knew what to do, his body in overdrive and stalling at the same time. So he just stayed, hearing her heart beating in her chest, telling him that this was real.

Someone walked by and coughed, and they slowly separated, dragged back to the present. The present sucked. The present had humans siding with machines, rounding up mutants worldwide, scanning babies for the X-Gene, tearing families apart, tossing those with powers into camps. A new world order of annihilation.

Caitlin shook her head and quickly put everything back into the massive silver kit. She moved through the space, knowing it well. How long had she been here? It was so easy to get used to new places when you moved so often.

"When's the last time you actually got any sleep?" she asked finally, turning her soft gaze back to him.

He stood, wincing as the bruises made him stiff and sore all over. He drank from the glass sitting on the counter, relishing the water racing across his tongue, as he thought about an answer. "Three years. Give or take a few," he said, a half smile cracking across his face, the muscles unused and unsure.

She lowered her eyes and nodded, understanding.

He could hear broken English and a handful of other languages intermixed from the people around them as everyone settled in for the night. They were somewhere in Europe, far from home, having left behind the ashes of their friends, their families, in what was left of a ravaged United States.

The only home they'd had in a long time had been each other.

"C'mon." She held her hand out to him, an offering, a lifeline.

He took it.

She wove through the carefully built structures, the makeshift rooms, the hastily constructed doors and walls. The light faded away as the others returned to their rooms and shut off their lights on the way.

Marcos lit the way the final two yards until Caitlin reached a door. She turned on a small light, showing a room that looked like a mixture of the haphazard rooms in the bank Atlanta and the slummy apartments in DC.

She leaned against the wall and pulled off her shoes and raked her hands through her loose hair, getting comfortable. "Do you want to sleep?" she asked.

There was a single bed in the room and no windows. God, he missed seeing the sky. The outdoor cells had thick roofs and bars, cutting off any hope for freedom.

"I'm afraid if I do that this won't be real. I'll wake up in that damn cell in that damn collar." The words came out bitterly, stinging. He raised a hand to the tender bruises around his neck.

"It's not," she insisted, and then she paused. "At least, I hope not."

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. He moved to sit on the end of the mattress next to her. They sat in silence.

He hadn't heard silence in months. Every day he heard mechanical Sentinel voices, whimpering mutants, cries of pain, the clanking of machinery...it was neverending.

"You're thin," she said finally.

"You're picking on me?"

She nearly rolled her eyes. "It's just an observation."

"They don't exactly feed us well."

 _They. Us_. Humans. Mutants.

The line between the two was as drawn as ever. Black and white. Or so everyone above ground thought.

Caitlin gripped the edge of the mattress and hung her head. She breathed, deep and shaky, closing her eyes.

"Hey, hey," he said, stumbling over his own words. He put his hand lightly on top of hers. "I haven't exactly had much chance for conversation in six months. I'm just saying shit. Ignore me."

"I can't keep doing this," she said finally, opening glassy eyes and looking over at him.

"Doing what?"

She swallowed hard and pushed her lips together in a thin line. "I keep losing people and making it my mission to bring them back. One single person." Every damn time. First Reed. Then Andy. Then Marcos. She threw her entire self into finding them, single minded ferocity that wasn't healthy and she knew it but she just couldn't help it.

"But you do. Every time." He shifted just enough to lift his hand to her face. Tears slipped and fell against his fingers.

"At the expense of what? So many other people? I keep telling myself that the Underground comes first. All of these lives, but it always comes down to one." She leaned into his touch and into him, her forehead against his shoulder, her hand on his leg. "I'm so tired of fighting."

He didn't know what to say, so what spilled out was a lot of soft  _hey_ s while his hand stroked her head and ran over her back.

"I've lost everyone else. I can't lose you too," she said once her voice was stronger.

 _You won't_ , he wanted to say, but it was too close to a promise, and who the fuck knew what would happen next.

Instead, he cupped the back of her head and kissed the top of her hair before standing. He flicked off the light and created his own.

"Thank you. I should have said that before. You deserve a great night's sleep and breakfast in bed."

She laughed, just enough. "I don't. I should have—"

"Don't do that to yourself. We'll save more people. It always starts with one."

She had crawled up the mattress by now and relaxed after kicking off her jeans in the dim light. He stood at the edge, feet flat against the wooden floor.

"Stay," she said, reaching for his wrist, not perturbed by the veins glowing beneath his skin. "I don't want to wake up and realize this was all some elaborate dream either."

Marcos sucked in a deep breath and then settled. "God, that's good," slipped out as he lay down on the mattress. It was probably old and lumpy but right now it felt like a fucking cloud.

Caitlin shifted on the mattress in the dark, his hand gone out to prevent any accidental fires. "This is no way to live," she said after the minutes stretched out around them. Her legs touched his, encased in soft cotton pants, and her finger gingerly traced the scar of a tattoo on his face.

"Tell me about it." His humor was black and dry. "It's just survival now."

At least before, they could have some semblance of a life. He had his friends, his Lorna, his daughter...but all of that was taken away. And as much as Caitlin blamed herself, it wasn't her fault. Marcos had spent a lot of nights reminding her that she wasn't Reed and while the ring on her finger linked them in some way, it did not make her a mutant. She was human, and it wasn't her responsibility to fix everyone.

It had been a long one year and five months. Ones filled with kindred souls trying to find their way. Broken hearts and lonely souls, grieving for those closest to them, grieving still for all of those millions who died needlessly. The nights were long and lonely and they were only human, give or take an X-Gene.

It wasn't easy. The world was in chaos, no one knew what to do until Trask stepped in and upped their Sentinel program world wide.

And that was the end of it all.

Months on the run. Six months in a caged in cell. And now he was here.

Safe. For how long? He didn't know.

Stuck underground with no way out, they very well could be bombed or drowned and they'd perish. Or maybe they'd find a way out and run again. And again.

Caitlin rested her forehead against his shoulder, her arm resting across his chest. He slid his fingers over her arm. It was a nice reminder. A tiny bit of weight, the beat of her heart against his arm, her breath warm against his skin.

They were alive, for now.

"You should sleep," he said after a while, as if he knew she was forcing herself to stay awake and add to the dark smudges beneath her eyes that had been there for years now, a permanent statement.

Her hand tightened against his shirt. "Don't you dare leave before I wake up," she muttered out, somehow still sounding fierce despite how tired she was.

His hand moved to her hair and ran his fingers through. "I'll be here," he said. He didn't want to sleep, but his body had been through a hell of a time. He hadn't slept more than two hours at a time for six months, he felt like he'd been John's punching bag and this bed was so damn heavenly.

The reminder of life, soft and warm and familiar, helped lull him into sleep. He was sure this place had security, he told himself as the survival part of him tried to stay awake in case of an attack. He finally settled in and slipped into a sleep void of dreams of forgotten times or of nightmares that plagued his waking hours.

Caitlin's hand didn't let go of him all night.

**Author's Note:**

> Implications of what happened during that year and five months between the destruction of the US and Marcos being captured is uh….up for your own personal imaginations but I may write a fic about it eventually. We’ll see.
> 
> The only thing that isn't up for interpretation is that Marcos and Caitlin are like two of maybe 5,000 people in the US who survived the Reed _bombing_. Everyone we know and love is dead because I'm the DEVIL and I love pain.


End file.
